


Devil's Claw

by DarcyFarrow



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humor and a hint of romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 13:04:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2469230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarcyFarrow/pseuds/DarcyFarrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dark One wishes to die.  For the sake of the world, the Seer must stop him; for the sake of a child, the Green Fairy will help her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. For Want of a Stitch, the Dark One Was Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We interrupt this program for an urgent message from the Fates

"Reul Ghorm! You must listen to me! Reul Ghorm!"

Fairies of every color gathered at the border between the Flatlands and Fairy Grove to stare at the strange child calling out for their queen. The redhaired girl bore her eyes in the palms of her hands, and she shifted those hands now, as if surveying the land for the fairy queen. The fairies whispered urgently among themselves and fluttered their wings nervously, for Reul Ghorm had never refused a child before, and yet she was ignoring this one.

The whispers rippled from one to another like wind across tall grass: the Reul Ghorm would not come.

The Green Fairy took pity on the child then. Prone to questioning, though not outright defying, authority, Green was, and her heart ached for the strange child crying across the meadow for help. Green flew to the girl, hovered at the level of the child's face, for expectations die hard. "Why do you seek the Reul Ghorm, young one?"

"You aren't her."

"No," Green admitted. "But perhaps I can help."

The girl nodded. "Perhaps. Do you recognize what I am?"

"No," Green admitted. "Were you. . . injured?"

"Changed," the girl said. "By magic. I am a Seer."

"I have heard of such." Politely, Green failed to mention what she'd heard: that Seers were the product of dark magic and not to be trusted; in fact, fairies were forbidden to listen to them, unless it was to grant a request to break the curse that gave them their power.

"I come bearing a terrible warning that the Reul Ghorm must hear."

"I'm sorry. She won't come. Will you tell me the message, and I will deliver it."

"I suppose there is no other way." The child shifted her hands around again, as if moving around puzzle pieces visible only to her. "The news is dire and must be told."

"I will listen," Green promised, ignoring the murmurs of her sisters behind her.

"It must be believed." The child must have been aware, then, of the order forbidding fairies from trusting Seers.

But stronger still for Green was an older order: fairies were to serve children in need, and this child clearly was. "I will heed what you say, young one."

"The Dark One wishes to die."

Green gasped: she couldn't imagine any soul, even one so ancient and twisted as the Dark One, preferring death. But then Green herself was quite young, as fairies go, only a few years into possession of her full powers and not even halfway through her training. "What a miserable life his must be," she uttered, "to wish to end it."

"He is the slave of a fool," the girl explained. "His magic chained, forced to do the bidding of a duke whose mind is as weak as his will. And so it has been for centuries: the Dark One has always been chained. But his successor will know no master and will be the most powerful, most learned of them all."

"And the most dangerous," Green surmised.

"He will be guided by a single thought: to be reunited with the son who will flee from him in horror at what he's become."

"A son! Only humans have sons."

"The Dark One that lives now will select a human as his successor, an impoverished, lame, much-bullied human with a young son to protect."

"I have seen it, many times: desperate parents will give anything to save their children," Green agreed. "That's why we fairies seek them out, to serve both child and parent, if we can."

"Which is why I've come to the Reul Ghorm." The Seer licked her chapped lips."For if your kind will not intervene now, the child will be lost, and in his anguish so will the soul of the father, and he will bring upon this world devastation the likes of which have never been seen." The Seer shuddered. "Know this: I'm just a Seer. I describe what I See, nothing more, and until now, nothing I have Seen could be prevented. But this. . . this outcome is not decreed by the Fates. It is decried by them: they have commanded me to intervene, in the smallest way possible. For this outcome is the will of the one from whom evil originates, and the Fates cannot allow it to pass."

"But the succession can be stopped." There was a question in Green's voice.

The Seer verified it. "The one who is the Dark One now will remain so, still enslaved, his evil still limited by his master's lack of imagination."

"And the boy?"

"He will remain in the love and care of his father, until the years reverse their roles, and the son becomes the caretaker of his elderly parent."

Green made her decision then. She would no doubt be stripped of her wings and banished from her tribe for disobedience, but to save a child and a world, she would accept any punishment. "Where do I find this desperate father, and how do I save them from the Dark One?"

"Listen on the wind for the nighttime cries of a frightened soul, and follow. And when the time comes for you to change the world, you will do it with a single nudge."

"I don't understand. A nudge?"

"You'll see the opportunity when it presents itself. Remember, a single nudge: a left turn instead of a right, and the world will be saved." The Seer vanished.

At nightfall Green parted from her sisters, found a tall tree from which to listen to the wind. She turned, degree by degree, listening to the hundreds of voices crying in the night, some for power, some for friendship, many for wealth, but all crying for themselves, until, from the northwest, she caught the sole human voice crying for his son's protection. "If there are gods, if there are beings who bestow blessings, as the legends say," this voice cried out, "rescue my son from certain death. He's just a child, a brave child who's already been punished for having such a weak father, and now he's to be sent into certain slaughter. Help him, gods or angels or whatever you are."

This was the voice she was meant to follow, Green was certain of it. She flew though the night, unwavering in her course, for the soul pleaded in prayer long after the voice stilled and the man fell asleep. She flew to his mud-and-thatch hut on the edge of a nameless village. She flew inside and saw the boy, shivering in the cold beneath a thin blanket over a rope bed, and she saw on a bed of straw on the dirt floor, with no blanket or fire to warm him, the father, his fists clenched in his sleep. She saw the emptiness of their shelves and the cold embers of their cookfire. She had seen poverty before: it was a common condition among humans, though she couldn't understand why. But she reminded herself it wasn't hunger she had come to prevent.

She watched the father and son through the night, and in the morning, when the duke's henchmen came to conscript the village children, she watched the father tremble, and in the distance she watched the Dark One compel obedience with his wicked magic. She was no match for such power; she understood that; nor had the Fates, speaking through the Seer, asked her to. Just a nudge, a left turn instead of a right. She watched, unseen, for her opportunity.

In the moonless night the lame man led his son out of the village. She watched as the duke's thugs tormented them and threatened to come for the son in two days. She watched the sergeant force the spinner to kiss his boot. She watched the wicked guardsmen ride away, and she watched one even more wicked come to the spinner in the guise of a helpful beggar. She despised all these wicked wretches and wished to harm them, though her magic wouldn't allow it. She listened to the beggar trap the gullible father with half-lies, and still she didn't see an opportunity, and she did some crying in the night herself, to the Fates, for she understood how short her time was to prevent calamity. She watched the disguised Dark One accept the spinner's last coin, last bowl of stew, the bed of straw, and she thought this must be the cruelest of all evil acts, to take from the poor and offer damnation in return for charity.

Evil magic must exist in the world, in order for benign magic to exist: the former was payment for the latter. So the theory went. But Green didn't have to like it.

In the morning the spinner fed the false beggar again and bade him farewell. And then the spinner sat down to the wheel to work and to consider the tale he'd been told, the tale of the Dark One's dagger.

Green followed the boy into the yard to watch over him as he tended his neighbor's goats in return for milk and cheese. The boy talked as he worked, seeking news from the neighbor about the conscripted girl Morraine, but no news had drifted back to the village. Still, the neighbor and the boy could see warfires on the horizon, coming closer every day.

The conversation came to an abrupt conclusion when a peasant woman ran up. "Strangers approach from the south, the royal guards and a carriage."

Rumplestiltskin appeared in the doorway of his hut. "Run and hide, Bae! I'll call for you when it's safe. Go!"

Green's heart pounded as the boy ran into the woods. Too soon! They were supposed to have one more day, but she supposed Hordor's word meant nothing.

Green hovered in the trees, watching the carriage, surrounded by four guardsmen–none of them familiar–rumble into the village. Two young women walked along beside it, one pleading with the other, "Please, ma'am, we're entering the village now. 'Tisn't seemly."

"I refuse," the smaller woman shook her auburn hair, "to ride another mile in that rattle-trap. Besides, in times as these, it isn't seemly for me to ride in such opulence. If we had come a-horseback, as I wanted–"

"Your father wouldn't have it. His only child, riding astride like a peasantwoman? Vulnerable to highwaymen."

"It's these whalebone corsets," the princess complained, digging at her ribcage, "that will be the end of me, long before robbers do."

And the fifty petticoats under your skirt, Green thought. They'll trip–

Left instead of right. Green grinned. Opportunity had just knocked–on Rumplestiltskin's rickety door.

With a tap of her wand, Green sent a little breeze swirling the ladies' skirts about their ankles. One of the princess' heels caught in her hem; her boot went right and her ankle went left, and the lady fell to the dirt somewhere in between. Her guards stepped down to lift her, and she whimpered in pain.

"Here," a guard indicated Rumplestiltskin's hut to the left of the road. "It's closest."

"But it's filthy!" The maid's protests were ignored.

Rumplestiltskin grabbed his walking stick, hauling himself to his feet as the entourage entered without knocking. "Here, you!" the guard carrying the princess barked. "A bed! Pillows and blankets if you have them."

Rumple drew back the blanket from his son's bed, then stepped aside as the duchess was placed on the goosedown mattress. He trembled, for, Green realized, all he saw were the uniforms. She longed to tell him his son was safe, for today.

The guards and the maid barked orders at the poor spinner until his head spun, and at last the fine lady resting in Bae's bed, with her unbooted foot propped on Bae's pillow, ordered them out. "You! Captain Randorf! You will take the carriage and all your men but one back to the castle. Tell my father what's transpired so he won't worry. Leave him–" she pointed to the guard who had carried her–"with me for protection, and my maid will remain too, for propriety. Send back a wagon with changes of clothes, and blankets, and a bed, for I shan't take this gentleman's only bed longer than I must. And food, for we can't expect him to feed us when he hasn't even invited us, can we? And gold to pay for our keep. And books, because I think I'm going to be here a while." She wriggled her foot and yelped.

The guards scrambled, leaving their lowest-ranking outside the door to drive away the curious, and the maid to sit primly at the table where Rumple had a sheepskin stretched out to dry. The maid grimaced from the smell.

The hut fell silent, the princess wincing in pain, the maid staring at the dirt floor, the spinner leaning on his walking stick. At last he shifted towards the stranger in Bae's bed, and the maid scowled at him in warning, and the princess opened her eyes.

"Your Highness, that ankle should–." He let his voice trail off, taking a step closer and gesturing at the propped foot. " May I?" He spoke so softly Green could hardly hear him.

The princess nodded, and he found a scrap of cloth he'd squirreled away for patching material. He hobbled to the bed, set his stick aside to grasp her calf just tight enough to hold the leg still, and with his free hand wrapped the cloth around the ankle, binding it snugly.

"Is that clean?" The maid barked, but the princess shushed her.

"It feels better." The princess wriggled her toes experimentally. "You made this cloth, sir? It's very soft." For she'd noticed the sheepskin and the spinning wheel.

"Aye. The ankle needs support," he mumbled, withdrawing his hands. He began to move around his little home, gathering a small burlap bag, a pestle and mortar, a mug and a teakettle. He filled the kettle with water from a bucket and hooked it over the fire; as it heated, he took a dried root from the bag and ground it into a powder. When he was finished, he scooped a spoonful of the powder into a mug and added boiling water. He stirred in the last of the honey he'd extracted from a hive months ago, a treat to flavor Bae's morning bread. He stirred the concoction until it had cooled sufficiently to drink, and then he brought her the mug.

"Wait," the maid demanded. "Don't drink it, ma'am. Could be poison."

"Nonsense." The princess accepted the cup and sipped, then made a face.

"Didn't I tell you?" The maid almost seemed pleased. "What's in that, spinner?"

"Devil's claw." And then he realized the truth hadn't helped him argue for the tea's safety. "Some call it hook plant." He glanced at the princess in embarrassment. "Bitter, but it reduces swelling and pain. Drink it faster so you won't notice the taste so much."

"Sounds demonic to me," the maid protested. "Don't drink it."

"Hush, Priscilla. Thank you, sir." The princess downed the tea in gulps and sputtered as she returned the cup to its owner. "I am sorry," she said sincerely, "to be such a bother, disturbing your home like this."

The spinner remained standing, leaning on his staff and peering into the empty cup as though her touch alone had made it special. "This village doesn't see many visitors."

"Nor this house, obviously," the maid sniffed.

"Priscilla!"

"She speaks true, ma'am," the spinner admitted. "I wish I could offer spirits–but it's been a lean year." He set the cup on the table. "Another cupful this evening. It will help you sleep." He moved toward the door. "The garden. . . I will make a soup tonight." He paused, his long hair shielding his eyes as he glanced back at her. Something happened as he did: a connection was born as his eyes met the princess', and they both forgot their stations for that moment, and they were just a man and a woman starting to like each other as they shared a smile.

Green smiled too.

"No," the princess said. "Let Priscilla go to the garden. Please, draw up a chair and talk to me, sir. I'd like to learn about herbs." Her gaze fell upon the wheel in the corner. "And spinning."

As the maid flounced out the door, the spinner sat down beside the bed. His thumb rubbed nervously against his forefinger.

"What's your name, sir?"

"Rumplestiltskin."

"And the child whose bed I'm borrowing? I assume he's out working?"

The spinner shook his head. "Hiding, ma'am. He turns fourteen tomorrow."

She seemed puzzled. "I will send Priscilla into the village, then, to buy a birthday cake, after she finishes the gardening." She tilted her head to peer into his downturned face. "Why is he hiding, Rumplestiltskin?"

He blinked at her in surprise. "We saw your guards. We thought they'd come a day early." She still seemed puzzled, so he continued, "The conscription?"

"Conscription?" she echoed. "For the war? But we–." She gasped, clutching a hand to her mouth. "No! Eighteen! By my father's order, only the healthy age eighteen and older–oh, my gods, are we taking children now?" Her eyes brimmed with sudden tears. "I will fix this, I swear to you." She called out, "Lieutenant!"

The guard standing sentry poked his head in, his sword already drawn. "Your Highness?"

"Ride at once for the castle. Inform my father that the Duke of the Frontlands has been conscripting fourteen-year-olds."

The guard's eyebrows shot up. "Four–"

"Go!"

"Aye, ma'am!" And in a moment the clatter of galloping hooves were heard.

"This swollen ankle will prove fortuitous," the princess said. "I promise you, an end will be brought to this practice tonight. Please, Rumplestiltskin, bring your son in from hiding so I may thank him for use of his bed."

The spinner looked directly, though shyly, into her eyes and found trust there. "Aye, ma'am." He took a few steps toward the door before looking back. "His name is Baelfire."

The princess dipped her head in greeting. "And mine is Belle."

The spinner grinned at her, blushing, and she blushed, smiling back.

There would be no daggers stolen tonight, no exchange of magic, no death, no lies or manipulation. Just a vegetable stew, prepared by Priscilla, with meat and bread from the castle, and goat cheese, earned by Bae, and a cake bought in the village, served on plates borrowed from the neighbors, with wine provided by Morraine's parents, and partaken of by a princess and her father in the suddenly crowded home of the village spinner, his son, who would eventually go to serve in the king's guard, and a princess who would eventually become a bride to the Royal Spinner.

They would soon be all the rage, Green thought as she snuck past the king for a taste of cake. Royal Spinners–every court will want one.


	2. For Want of a Knife, a School was Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What became of Green and Zoso.

Green was in no rush to return to Fairy Glen. She justified prolonging her stay with the correct assumption that Blue couldn't possibly get any madder than she was right now, so why rush back? And it was just so sweet watching the spinner and his son fall all over themselves to take care of Princess Belle, who in turn had her entourage falling all over themselves to do nice things for the little nameless village, beginning with running the duke out of the county.

And it was so much fun watching King Maurice scratch his head in puzzlement when his guards, after confiscating everything in the duke's possession (because now they had the time-consuming job of returning to its rightful owner everything the duke had stolen in his long career), brought to court a pile of things they couldn't identify. Among those objects was a knife with the word "Zoso" emblazoned on the blade in ornate letters. None of Maurice's advisors had any idea who, what or where a "Zoso" was, perhaps just a flatware maker who'd gone out of business, and when tested, the knife proved nearly useless for carving meat or slicing bread. Maurice puzzled over the knife for several long minutes; it wasn't even good for mumblety-peg. Finally he shrugged, declared that the dull knife wasn't worth the effort it would take to figure out the meaning of "Zoso," and offered it to Belle for her hope chest (for Maurice could see which way the wind blew, and he figured he'd better start preparing for his daughter's wedding). Belle thought the tacky knife clashed awfully with the modern, minimalist look she was going for with her decor, so she offered it to Rumple, to scrape sheephide with; Rumple, finding the knife insufficient for his work, made a present of it to Bae, who, after finding it worthless for whittling, dropped it into a drawer and forgot about it.

A year later, while packing their household for the move into a lovely modern split-level Maurice had given them as a wedding gift, Rumple, Belle and Bae rediscovered the knife and with a shrug, tossed the useless thing into the garbage pit, along with rotting apple cores and potato peels and cookfire ashes, and covered it all with a mound of dirt.

After the duke was run out of the county, the Dark One was observed just sort of hanging around his ex-master's former estate for several weeks; later, he was spotted slinking around farm-to-market trails, begging for coins; and much later, it was reported he'd signed on as the cook for the Jolly Roger. The last he was heard of, the crew of that dark ship had tossed him overboard (for his cooking had sent the entire crew into a fit of dysentary) and he wound up a swamper at the Spy Glass Saloon in the faraway land of Bristol.

So with all that entertainment to enjoy, Green took her time going home; in fact, nearly four years passed before she finally decided to face the music. Blue hadn't calmed down any in those intervening years: she'd simply had more time to lengthen her list of grievances against Green. When Green did present herself for judgment, the harangue lasted six days, for Green had broken almost every rule in the Book of Proper Fairy Conduct (ninth ed.). At last, Blue's voice gave out, and, wearied, she waved her wand, Green's wings vanished, the Trap Door of Rejection opened and Green landed unceremoniously on her fanny. From their airy perches, her sisters waved a sad farewell, for she was well liked despite her rebellious nature.

But her sisters' tears quickly changed to gasps, for, as they looked on, the Fates themselves appeared at ground level, picked Green up, dusted her off, gave her a set of not two wings, as she'd had before; not four wings, like Blue; but six rainbow-shimmery gossamer wings. "Oooh," the fairies crooned, "ahhh," and Blue turned red in the face, for the Fates were her bosses and clearly, they weren't happy with her now. And if Blue was a master of haranguing, well! Just see what happens when Morta's on a tear, because Morta always gets in the last word. It's said that Atlas shuddered when Morta called Blue onto the carpet.

With Green, however, the Fates, who normally didn't rub elbows with mortals, kept it short. "It is true, you violated the rules set forth by your supervisor," said Nona, "and for that we thank you."

"For we sent a messenger to the fairies, and none but you would hear her," said Decima, glaring up at redfaced Blue. "And so we've decided it's time to start a second training camp for magical beings, a proper school, and we want you to head it up."

"We've already chosen the location: the most enchanting land in all the realms, a territory called Scotland," Nona added. "And the school will be called Hogwarts. Will you accept this task, Green?"

"I shall, with thanks!" Green kissed the cheeks of Nona and Decima, but when she reached out to Morta, that worthy wagged a warning finger. "You don't want my kiss, dearie, not for many years to come, but instead I give you this, a new name: Tinkerbell, which in the ancient tongue means 'maker of beautiful things.'"

Then the eavesdropping fairies gasped and gaped, for never had a fairy been given a unique name: even fairy queens had been named after a color, and those names were not unique: when a Blue died, the next fairy born was given the name Blue. But there would ever be just one Tinkerbell.

As headmistress of the new school, Tinkerbell was far too busy to visit the Enchanted Forest often, but she always set aside time to attend the name day of a descendant of Princess (later, Queen) Belle and the Royal Spinner, for on their wedding day, she had appeared before them and offered as her gift her patronage to all their progeny for ten generations to come. It was a most remarkable gift, but Tinkerbell figured she owed her success to them, for, if Belle and Rumple hadn't decided to fall in love, Tinkerbell would most likely be swamping out a seaside saloon somewhere.

And she'd still be Green.


End file.
